


perhaps even longer

by burnsidesjulia



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Kinda, M/M, more like acquaintances to something that really confuses and upsets aaron but, this fic can be subtitled: why is this horrible ham man torturing me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7791715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnsidesjulia/pseuds/burnsidesjulia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Because there’s the rub, that’s the crux of it; Aaron doesn’t feel hungover or drunk. Yes, he drank last night, of course he did. There was free alcohol, what was he supposed to do? His throat is tight and dry and his head hurts a bit, but he’s fairly sure he was awake and at least mostly sober all of last night. On the other hand, that would not explain why Aaron has large patches of unknowing in his memory last night, or why Hamilton is tossed across his chest and, much to Aaron’s distaste, drooling on him. Or why they’re in the same room at all. What the hell.</i>
</p>
<p>after spending the night at angelica's wedding party, aaron and alexander find themselves in the same bed, wearing matching rings, and can't remember how it came to be. they resolve to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ah, there’s nothing like summer in the city.

This has to be what Aaron hates the most about city living; the smell. The noise is a close second, but fumes from cars and half-baked hot dog vendors parading outside his window is not something he ever enjoyed. That’s the entire reason he opted to move out of the city for the countryside, to hell with the long commute to his law firm. New York might’ve been bad but in some ways, Vegas is worse, because it smells sad to put it bluntly. Alcohol and sleeping in til one in the afternoon, with a dash of self loathing. Of course, that could just be Aaron’s bed sheets. Or his own breath.

Angelica’s wedding was last night, and it was- it was nice. That’s the only way he can describe it. John Church was nice enough, Angelica’s dress was nice, the decoration and the free food and alcohol was all nice but it wasn’t spectacular. It felt a little too formal, like the marriage was for convenience rather than love. She didn’t look very excited, he seemed to share the sentiment, it felt like they were going through the motions. Ninety percent of the energy in the room was coming from Eliza, frantic with joy at her sister’s union. Several times, she’d interrupted the priest to straighten Angelica’s veil. Even then, the other ten percent was Jefferson flustering about how she should be marrying _him_ , blathering on about their time together in Paris. John Church pulled tight lipped smiles and pretended not to hear him. But it was nice. And the lovely new couple payed for Aaron’s hotel room, and having his own hotel room is nice, too.

Something doesn’t add up.

Aaron has his own hotel room, but unless he’s hearing things or has two sets of lungs, there’s someone else’s breathing in his ears, heating the air. It’s opposite his own, when he inhales, it exhales. He blinks his heavy eyelids open, frowns up at the ceiling. He opts to hold his breath to see if it stops because, what can he say, his tired mind thinks that the two sets of lungs theory is plausible. And when he does, it stays. His frown deepens, as if that will do anything. As his mind continues to wake up, his body does too, and he tries to stretch his legs. But his legs are pinned down by some unknown weight. Panic crawls up into Aaron’s throat and he tries to shift out from under it. The weight follows him regardless, warm and making a soft grunting noise and then suddenly everything clicks into place. He took someone back to the hotel last night.

Ah, yes. He remembers now. A very pretty girl, she was one of Angelica’s bridesmaids. Her name is Theodosia, such a pretty name. Aaron had met her before but only in passing, and getting to know her he learned exactly how smart and welcoming she is, quick with words and impossibly sweet. They danced several times at the reception alone, and there was another party that followed, everyone minus the newlyweds. And there, he’d made a bold move and kissed her. It had been a lot easier with a few drinks in his system, he felt invincible in the first place and when she kissed him back it was like conquering a nation. Somewhere in the background, Jefferson had been cheering him on. Of course. There’s a bit of a blank patch in his memory there that he assumes will come back when he wakes up more, and whatever it was, it lead to Theodosia curled around him in his bed. And that’s nice too.

He finally coaxes his eyes to stay open and stares up at the ceiling. There’s a shoe print scuffed over the bed that he didn’t remember being there the last time he fell asleep, but that’s probably nothing. He ducks his hand to pet through her hair, smiling to himself. He breathes deeply, threads his fingers into it. It’s silky smooth between his fingers, sliding through languidly and dropping back onto his chest in soft sections. And suddenly, something doesn’t add up again. Theodosia had box braids when he saw her last night, and he knows that because he remembers complimenting her, telling her how beautiful they look on her, twirling them around his fingers in a poor attempt to flirt. And whoever is laying on his chest does not.

So. The person in his bed is not Theodosia.

What the hell.

Finally, in what likely should have been his first move to avoid the confusion, Aaron chances a look downward. And surely enough, it is not Theodosia. The person laying on his chest has long dark hair that fans out over Aaron’s chest like a wave, and they’re snoring slightly. Aaron recognizes the person he thinks, at least recognizes that hair and skin tone paired together but the angle is weird and he can’t see their face. He’s tired anyway, his mind is bleary. He blinks down at them, watches their chest rise and fall while he tries to piece together the rest of the puzzle.

After he kissed Theodosia, he’d stumbled away, face flushed and stuttering as he offered to get her a drink. He’d wound up running smack into Jefferson’s chest, and Jefferson slapped his back and told him to ‘go get her, tiger’. He’d brushed Jefferson off, stumbled on to the bar and asked for two glasses of- of something. Another small missing patch of his memory, unimportant. And on his way back to her, Aaron ran into someone else’s chest. Really, he’s a klutz, he knows. It wasn’t Jefferson this time, the coat wasn’t the right color. Someone smaller, but he can’t quite place the person’s face. It’s fuzzy. He focuses hard on that blurry image, tries to pull some distinguishing figure out of the static. Of course, he could just wake the person on his chest up, but the idea of the awkward conversation that would follow makes him hesitate. Instead, he squeezes his eyes back shut and tries making some of the night come back to him.

He’s missing a lot between kissing Theodosia and right now, but he remembers showing back up at the hotel. There was someone pressed hot against him, their lips all over the contours of his neck. They were pushy, sliding up his shirt and over his back, dragging short nails over his shoulder blades. And they called him Burr, too, not Aaron, at least in the beginning. Really, Aaron can only think of one person who routinely calls him by his last name but certainly he’d remember if it was-

The person on his chest takes in a deep sigh, digs their shoulder into Aaron’s ribcage. He cringes and shifts away from the sharp pain, but then they move again. They shift against him, turn their head to press their cheek into his chest. Aaron brushes the hair away from their face again, and now he can almost see them, can see a nose and lips and softly fluttering eyelids, and there is a long moment of realization before he starts to panic.

He knows who it is now.

Another minuscule piece of the night comes back to him, and he knows _exactly_ who it is because he remembers saying their name. Like a prayer, on his back with lips stretched around his cock and hands in their hair, Aaron had said, “Alexander, Alexander, Alexander.” And surely enough, that’s who it is. On his chest, snoring lightly, Alexander Hamilton is cuddled, a faint smile gently playing on his lips and his skin all glowing warm from sleep.

As hard as he tries to add things up in his head, it seems to make no sense. First of all, Aaron and Hamilton are barely friends at all, hardly even acquaintances; Aaron finds him obnoxious, abrasive, and incredibly overbearing. He’s never spent time with him outside of work voluntarily, but always seemed to wind up near him by some cruel trick of fate. Their friend groups overlap and they work together, but that’s their only connection. Or, it was until last night apparently, because Aaron is more than sure that he slept with whoever it is in his bed. So unless Hamilton has recently procured a double, Aaron slept with him.

And that’s another thing, because Hamilton isn’t exactly his type. He’s been with men before, dated them and maybe even loved them to some extent, but never one like him. Call him shallow, but Aaron has never exactly been into Hamilton’s whole look, the long hair and oversized suits that hang off of him like drapes. He’s sure that all does it for some people but for him, not really. Another memory springs to mind at this, one of him pawing Hamilton’s suit off of him in the dark. A black jacket, a green tie and matching pocket square. Not bad actually, if he recalls correctly, and everything fit well, so Angelica probably made him clean up for the wedding. Ah. He supposes it’d make more sense to have happened last night, then, because at least he was well-dressed and that’s really a _thing_ for Aaron. It still doesn’t quite fit despite that, doesn’t seem like he’d willingly even talk to the man, let alone kiss him or bed him.

On top of all of that, Aaron is fairly sure Hamilton doesn’t like him, either. Sure, they’ve had their moments when forced together, some polite yet stilted conversation. Still Hamilton avoids him just as much Aaron avoids him, which is really a lot. Besides, Aaron is friends with Jefferson and Madison, and hanging around with them is all the grounds Hamilton needs to dislike you. He makes snarky comments at all of Aaron’s writing, mocks and invalidates him in court, takes every chance to show him up, twist the knife of his dislike a little deeper. Even if Aaron had wanted him to, which he really doesn’t believe that he did, Hamilton wouldn’t have made a move. 

The only logical explanation is that they were drunk, alone, and horny, and somehow found their way to each other to relieve two of those three things. And to be fair, if Aaron’s memory serves him, Hamilton really wasn’t a bad lay. So he settles with that explanation for a moment, but only a second passes before he is forced to doubt it again. Because there’s the rub, that’s the crux of it; Aaron doesn’t feel hungover or drunk. Yes, he drank last night, of course he did. There was free alcohol, what was he supposed to do? His throat is tight and dry and his head hurts a bit, but he’s fairly sure he was awake and at least mostly sober all of last night. On the other hand, that would not explain why Aaron has large patches of unknowing in his memory last night, or why Hamilton is tossed across his chest and, much to Aaron’s distaste, drooling on him. Or why they’re in the same room at all. What the hell.

It’s not even the afternoon yet and it’s entirely too hot. Aaron could handle it if it were just him but, unfortunately, it is not. Unfortunately, there is a massive annoyance in his bed, currently nuzzling his nose into Aaron’s bare chest. If it were anyone else, it would be endearing. It’s not someone else, though, and so it is not. Instead, Aaron is annoyed, inconvenienced and still confused about how Hamilton even wound up here. He doesn’t get long to be angry in silence though, because after a minute of the nudging and soft noises, Hamilton starts to move. He presses his palms flat against the mattress on either side of Aaron’s torso and stretches upward, cranes his neck and groans. Aaron watches with a scowl, honestly jealous of the man’s ignorance, the blissful kind he’d experienced for several minutes before realizing what exactly it is that he’s done.

Hamilton drops back into place on Aaron’s chest, yawns. When he peels his eyes open, he seems surprised at the body beneath him. Aaron stays quiet. Hamilton tracks his eyes across the half of Aaron’s stomach that is in his line of sight, and Aaron can practically see gears turning in his head. He’s going through the same thought process of _hey, this doesn’t look like my room_ , slowly fading into _oh right, I got laid last night_. Hamilton doesn’t seem necessarily upset with his choice as far as the body goes, because he gives an _incredibly_ indulgent look down at Aaron’s chest, makes him flush a little in embarrassment. Finally, Hamilton just raises an eyebrow and gives a little shrug to himself, likely presuming that whoever he’s laying on is still asleep. Aaron feels his pride swell up in his chest because hey, a compliment is a compliment, but as soon as he remembers that it’s _Hamilton_ complimenting him he shoves it back down.

Hamilton gazes at the wall for a little bit before taking the route Aaron avoided, pressing up on his hands and looking at his face. The second that they meet eyes is likely the longest that’s ever gone on, both staring like a deer in the headlight back at the other. Aaron feels himself still frowning, but Hamilton is not. In fact, he looks slightly awed. Aaron supposes that’s another compliment, but he can’t help the strange feeling it gives him in place of joy, something almost like fear.

Hamilton’s mouth falls open eventually, as if in a silent scream. Aaron’s already had this revelation, he really doesn’t need a second one, but it doesn’t stop his heart from drumming the inside of his chest mercilessly. To leave Hamilton speechless is quite a task, and any other time he’d be glad that he’s finally done it, but Aaron knows that Hamilton is gaping at him because they’re together, in the same hotel room, in the same bed. And worse, Aaron realizes now, Hamilton is half straddling him, and they’re both _naked_. He feels himself flush, is overcome with the need to hide but cannot command his body to do anything but lie there rigidly, stare back into Hamilton’s eyes.

“Oh,” Hamilton says finally, his voice quiet and tight in his chest.

Aaron can’t take that on top of everything else he’s experienced this morning. “ _Oh_?” he repeats, and his voice feels sharp sliding off his tongue. Even Hamilton recoils a bit because usually, almost always, Aaron can keep his cool so well. “Is that all you have to say? _Oh_?” Hamilton shakes off the slight reaction he’d had to Aaron’s tone initially, slides into his usual snarky mood. “What did you expect me to say? Good morning, sunshine?” He makes his voice disgustingly sweet on the last word. Aaron wants to strangle him. Aaron shakes his head, shifts up the pillows and away from him. He’s got morning breath something terrible. “No. I expected some sort of explanation.”

“I expected the same,” Hamilton shoots, tilting his head to the side in a mock-questioning manner. “Do you not remember?” Aaron cringes, squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t really want to admit that weakness to Hamilton, the fact that he might know something Aaron doesn’t, but he also desperately needs to know what circumstances got Hamilton into bed with him. So that he can make sure they are never duplicated, and it never happens again. So despite his pride, Aaron shakes his head back at him. “No. I do not remember.”

“Well, that’s too bad then, because neither do I.” And with that, Hamilton disentangles his legs from Aaron and flops back on the bed beside him. Aaron feels anger flare in his chest. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he mumbles to himself, and then turns on Hamilton again, but not before tugging the blankets up around his bare body. He feels incredibly exposed. Hamilton on the other hand seems to have no shame or any humility whatsoever, because even once uncovered from the sheet tossed over them he’s sprawling out across the bed, entirely on display. Aaron is ashamed enough for the both of them, he figures in his head. “What do you mean, you don’t remember? You don’t know how you got here?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I _do_ remember _being_ here,” Hamilton responds, waggling his eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.” Aaron’s face is on fire, and he knows this because he puts a palm to one cheek in a show of exasperation. He swallows thickly. “If you mean that you remember us...” He trails off, pauses to clear his throat. He feels even more exposed trying to admit what they did. It makes it more real. “Us, having _relations_ , then I suppose I-”

“You fucked my throat, Burr. And vice versa,” Hamilton says flatly, rolling his eyes. Aaron feels his own eyes widen. How can he sound so calm about it? Hamilton notices the reaction, shrugs. “No use in beating around the bush. It already happened. It’s done.” He looks to the side, a devilish glint in his eyes. “And actually, you also put me on my hands and knees and-”

“Hamilton!” Aaron snaps, waving his hands frantically to try and stop him. He really doesn’t need the play by play. He remembers that much, and the more Hamilton talks the more that scene is playing back in his head. Aaron would really appreciate it if he never had to think about having sex with Hamilton ever again. Hamilton gives another weak shrug. “The point is, we really shouldn’t tiptoe around this. We wound up here somehow. I’d kind of like to know how.” Aaron sighs, rolls over onto his back. For as annoying as he is, Hamilton is smart, and he’s right. The two lay there for a while in silent contemplation.

“It was good, though. That much can be said for your usefulness.” Hamilton’s voice tells Aaron that he’s smirking.

“Shut the fuck up,” Aaron responds, and puts his hands over his ears to further press the point that he really doesn’t want to hear it. Hamilton makes an annoyed noise in his throat and crosses his arms over his chest, but he shuts up. That’s probably the first time Hamilton has ever listened to him, and he’d be tempted to gloat at any other point in time. However, gloating over him while naked and in the same bed isn’t exactly the way he’d imagined it.

Aaron heaves a sigh, raises his hands to his face to scrub the sleep away from his eyes. He’s prodding at his skin, almost as if trying to coax himself from this nightmare, and he feels something entirely out of place on his hand. A small piece of jewelry around his finger, a little on the tight side. Aaron frowns. He doesn’t wear jewelry. He pulls his hands away to look them over for anything else. There’s nothing but the ring, a small gold band wrapped tight around a finger on his left side. His left side? He stares down at his palm incredulously, feels his head shake a little without his permission. His ring finger. But that means-

Oh dear god.

“Hamilton,” he starts cautiously, tucking his hands under the blanket before he can see. Hamilton turns to face him again, an arm laid casually in the curve of his bare hip. Aaron does his best not to look. “Yes?” he asks with another eyebrow raise, seemingly picking up on the anxiousness of Aaron’s tone. He presses his lips together. “Are you wearing any jewelry?” Hamilton’s brow furrows. “What kind of question is that?” he demands, and Aaron can tell it upsets him that he doesn’t understand what’s being asked. Aaron shakes his head. “Just check, please.” His heart is absolutely thundering along, so hard he wonders whether Hamilton can hear it. Confusion still clouding in his tired eyes, Hamilton pats along his collarbone in search of a necklace, his ears for any new piercings, and finally, his fingers for any rings. Just as he’s about to ask why Aaron asked in the first place, his angry questioning look collapses into one of pure puzzlement. Aaron feels his blood run cold.

“Um,” Hamilton says timidly, staring at his hand. He moves his thumb in toward his ring finger, spins his matching gold band around a few times. Aaron swallows hard, leans in to see it closer. An exact copy of his own, pressing a mark into Hamilton’s skin. He doesn’t have anything to say. After what feels like years, Hamilton lowers his shaking hand and says to the ceiling, “I sure hope I married Lafayette last night.”

“Don’t say that,” Aaron says immediately, and he shoots upright in bed so fast that it makes him dizzy. He shakes his head. “Don’t say that. I’m sure this is just a joke, some sort of prank that they all played on us-” Hamilton sits up too, puts his hand on Aaron’s shoulder hesitantly. He pats him awkwardly and doesn’t say anything. Aaron figures he knows what that means, but still it makes the anxiety within him pool and flood over. He shakes his head again. “Hamilton, I think we’d remember if we got _married_.” The word feels foreign in his mouth, he wants to shiver as he says it. Sleeping with Hamilton is one thing. One thing he thought he'd never have to even think about doing, but still. Marrying him? Aaron thinks that’s something he would remember, because it’d be the worst decision he’s ever made and that’s not necessarily something he’d forget. Hamilton shakes his head right back at him. “I’m not entirely convinced that we would, Burr. And I think we need to be honest and just accept that-”

“Screw being honest,” Aaron spits back, and his panic is quickly melting away into anger. Hamilton clearly isn’t being honest anyway. He’s taking this far too well, he must know something about the night that’s keeping him from absolutely losing it. He relays this thought to Hamilton, his face hot with anger, and Hamilton merely blinks back at him. “I think,” he says calmly, “we should get some clothes on before having this discussion.” And his eyes, unfortunately, trail down Aaron’s chest. Aaron feels his heart pick up pace again in embarrassment. Right. He’d forgotten, between the shock of finding out that he’s married this horrible man and the anger of having information withheld, that neither of them are clothed in the slightest. If only in retaliation, Aaron looks down across Hamilton’s chest, too. Hamilton stiffens under the gaze, a faint pinkness trailing down across his skin. And alright, maybe he isn’t the worst looking person Aaron has ever seen. But what does that matter, when he might have to spend the rest of his life married to him? Even the next hour married to him? Aaron feels sick at the mere concept. He rolls out of bed, takes the sheet with him to cover himself as he seeks out his clothes.

Luckily for him, he has a suitcase with clean clothes packed in it. Aaron takes that as a small mercy, because at least he’s in his own room with his own clothes. He tugs them on behind the shield of the blanket, hazards a glance back at Hamilton seeking out his own clothes on the floor. They were clearly eager to undress each other, Aaron can tell, because the trail of clothing starts just a foot in front of the door with his own belt and ends with his boxers, hanging lazily from a bedpost. Hamilton tugs his own on, puts his shirt from last night over his shoulders and does up a few buttons. Aaron considers offering him some real clothes, because he really doesn’t want Hamilton to be seen doing the walk of shame out of his room in a half unbuttoned dress shirt, but the idea of sharing clothes with a man who might be his _husband_ is far too domestic. He refrains, focuses on doing up his jeans.

“Alright,” Hamilton tells him, his voice a little too loud. “I’m decent. You can turn back around.” Aaron sighs, drops the sheet away from his body and onto the floor in a pool. “I think we’ve already seen each other indecently at this point. It doesn’t matter.” Hamilton smiles, nods back at him. “Alright, Burr. Now you’re getting the picture.”

“Shut up,” Aaron tells him again. He sits at the foot of the bed, crosses his legs beneath him. “Tell me what else you remember.” Hamilton joins him on the bed, a reasonable distance away. He’s still smiling. “You can’t have both, Burr,” he teases, and if Aaron didn’t know better, he’d think he sounds fond. He hardens his eyes. “You know what I meant, you insufferable ass. Now spit it out.” Hamilton’s eyes widen. “Hmph. I’m liking this angry side of you. Don’t get me all worked up again, though, we might have a whole different problem on our hands.” He gestures vaguely toward his crotch, flashes a smile that’s probably gotten him out of trouble before. Aaron wants to strangle him, again. He keeps giving him an icy gaze until finally he sighs, throws his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, you’ve got me. I remember something else.”

“I know _that_ ,” Aaron almost growls back. “Just tell me.” And just like that, Hamilton gets shy again. He starts fiddling with his fingers, strands of his hair, the buttons on his shirt. He clears his throat, tugs the loose collar away. “You have to promise you won’t laugh at me, though,” he says softly, and sounds legitimately concerned about it. Aaron feels some new tenderness for the man, and then strikes it away immediately because, absolutely not. Still, he nods. “Of course not.” Hamilton looks up at him from under his lashes in a way that revives a few memories from the night before and Aaron really doesn’t need that, so he looks away. Hamilton sighs. “Well, okay. I remember, um.” He scratches at the back of his neck. When he finally speaks again, his voice is small. “I danced with Jefferson.”

“You did _what_?” Aaron asks immediately, can’t help himself because that’s so absolutely wild that it almost matches his own supposed marriage. Hamilton hates Jefferson with a passion, so much that it’s likely his most prominent character trait right after annoying and loud. Hamilton almost pouts, his cheeks dusting over with red. “Yeah, I know,” he mumbles back, looking down at the bed. “It gets worse. We were slow dancing, and he told me-” Hamilton breaks off, almost in a gag. “He told me I looked beautiful.” Aaron does the equivalent of a spit take, without liquid. As much as Hamilton hates Jefferson, Jefferson might hate him more. They’re too much like each other for them to find the other bearable, and one would think that would open their eyes to their own annoying habits. It doesn’t. Still, the idea of Jefferson looking down at Hamilton and purposefully complimenting him, calling him _beautiful_ no less, is one for the history books. 

Aaron tries to swallow down his laughter, shakes his head. “Is that all you remember?” he presses, tries to sound gentle and coaxing because he’s never seen Hamilton so flustered before and he’s clearly upset about it. Hamilton shakes his head, looks back up at him. “No. I- We were outside, on the sidewalk.” He pauses, furrows his brow in thought. “And I had flowers in my hair. Yellow ones.” Aaron’s laugh gets stopped short at the last statement because he catches sight of his own outfit from the night before. His tie, laying abandoned on the floor, is bumblebee yellow. Hamilton follows his gaze, finds it and quiets again. The flowers Hamilton had in his hair were almost undoubtedly picked to match Aaron’s tie. They both sigh.

“So,” Aaron says quietly, still looking at the clothes strewn across the floor. “I guess that would’ve been-”

“Our wedding,” Hamilton finishes for him, nodding slightly. “I guess so.” Neither of them comment on the implications of that. Like the fact that all of that means that there was some planning on their part, that it wasn’t a spur of the moment, priest dressed like Elvis deal that they had going on. And that other people, including but likely not limited to Thomas Jefferson, had been there to bear witness. Aaron feels slightly sick again.

“So what do we do?” Hamilton asks finally, his eyebrows raised. Aaron turns back to face him, frowning. “I say nothing. Say we take off the rings, pretend nothing happened.” Hamilton shakes his head. “We can’t do that, Aaron. Marriage is a legally binding thing. You’re a lawyer, you know that.” Aaron wonders briefly when Hamilton had started calling him Aaron, but doesn’t press too hard on the subject. He shrugs, waves his hands in a vague motion. “Fine. We get a divorce, then.” He almost wants to laugh at how ridiculous this is, them sitting on a hotel bed and discussing what to do about their accidental marriage. Hamilton smiles back at him again in that infuriating way. “I’m taking half your stuff in the split.”

“Feel free,” Aaron fires back snappily, hardly a beat between the end of Hamilton’s sentence and the start of his own. “Anything to get out of the hell that I’m sure being your husband would be.” Hamilton’s eyes widen for just a moment, and then the smile comes back in full force. “You know, you were much less disagreeable when I had your cock in my mouth,” he notes casually, and Aaron just about chokes. Hamilton notices that too, and he shifts closer on the mattress. He sets his hand down right beside Aaron’s thigh, gives him a very pointed look. “Would you like me to put that tactic back into use?” he asks lowly, and Aaron scoffs loudly, shoves him away by his shoulder. “Absolutely not,” Aaron answers, and he’s certainly not proud of the slight stutter in his voice. Hamilton looks skeptical, but he backs off, tucks his hands behind his back. “So. We’re divorcing,” he repeats instead, his voice back in it’s usual register, and Aaron nods. That solves that, he thinks. At least the legal bit of it. Other than that, not so much. He’s entirely sure Jefferson will gloat this over him for the rest of his life, and now he’ll always know what Hamilton’s sex noises sound like. If there was a strain on his connection to Hamilton before, it was nothing compared to this. 

Hamilton nods back at him. “Okay. We’ll need our marriage license.” Aaron feels his heart drop. He has no idea where it would be, could be anywhere. It’s very possibly blowing down the streets of Vegas as a piece of litter, drifting on the wind. Just as he thinks this, Hamilton snatches something off the nightstand beside him. “Got it.” And that, that solidifies it. The actual legal document that proves that last night, something compelled them to marry each other. Aaron wonders how this could get any worse.

And then Hamilton laughs. Dear god, is that a menacing sound, and it definitely means no good for Aaron because he’s still looking at the paper. He smiles up at him over it. “Well,” he says, and he sounds entirely too self-satisfied. “You can’t call me Hamilton anymore.” Aaron narrows his eyes back at him. “Why not, exactly?” he asks, though he’s not sure he wants the answer. Hamilton grins at him and gives it anyway. “Because it’s your last name, too.” Aaron feels his jaw drop open for a moment, and then he forces it shut so hard that his teeth clack together painfully. That can’t be true. He doesn’t think he’d ever take anyone’s last name, especially not Hamilton’s. “Liar.”

“Nope, not a liar. Aaron Hamilton, it says it right there.” He jabs at the paper with his ring finger, like he thinks that’s hilarious. Aaron tries to lean over to read it, and Hamilton jerks it away. “What, you don’t believe me?” he asks, his voice dripping with saccharine, so much so that Aaron almost cringes. “No, I don’t. I’d never take your last name. It sounds weird anyway.” Hamilton shrugs. “Well, it’s your name now, so.” Aaron groans at him, tries to look at the paper again. “Ah, ah,” Hamilton chides him softly, and his voice makes Aaron want to kill him. “Ask nicely.”

“No,” Aaron responds plainly, makes another grab for the paper. Hamilton presses one palm against Aaron’s chest to keep him away, holds it out at arm's length in the other hand. “Fine then. Just admit that you took my last name.” Aaron shakes his head fiercely. “No way. I wouldn’t.” Hamilton is still smiling. “But you _di-id_ ,” he sings, waving the paper through the air. Aaron pushes back against the hand on his chest, still can’t reach. “You’re a liar, Hamilton, because you would’ve taken _my_ last name.” Hamilton shakes his head. “Would not and _did_ not. My name has incredible rhythm. You think I’d throw that away for some silly boy?” He tosses his hair over his shoulder with an over dramatic turn of his head. Aaron is still a bit unbelieving, but something in his snide tone makes him wary of Hamilton telling the truth. “You mean I didn’t even hyphenate it?”

“Nope,” Hamilton answers, popping the end of the word. He looks pleased out of his mind, and that pisses Aaron off. “Just let me see it,” he says, and his voice is fairly whiny, almost embarrassing. Hamilton shakes his head. “Nicely,” he requests again, and Aaron has had more than enough of that. “Give it _here_ ,” he growls, and pushes forward into Hamilton’s hold on him. Hamilton doesn’t see it coming and topples over. Aaron crawls on top of him, snatches the paper from his hand. Hamilton laughs at him still, albeit a little breathlessly. “You know, Aaron, if you wanted to get on top of me again so badly, you could’ve just asked.”

“Don’t presume I’ll ever want to sleep with you ever again,” Aaron answers, lifting the paper up in front of himself. Then he groans because, damn him, Hamilton was right. Aaron’s last name is changed, at least on this paper, and now he really can’t refer to him as Hamilton. It’s a bit like seeing double, in the fact that it’s horrible and dizzying and really, really irritating. The idea of _two_ Hamiltons in the same room is almost as bad as the original alone. “So?” Hamilton asks, and Aaron lowers the paper to give him a pointed glare. “Fine, _Alexander_ ,” he grits out, and the name feels odd in his mouth. He decides he’ll continue to refer to him as Hamilton in his mind, though, because he won’t ever really own that last name. And it’s only until they can get a divorce, Aaron knows. Still, the smile it makes Hamilton give him is horrible. He recalls telling Hamilton at some other point in their life to talk less and smile more often, but he’d sit through several six hour speeches before he’d ever opt to see that awful _look_ again. Aaron regrets a lot of things, but nothing more than taking his stupid last name, giving him the pleasure of knowing that Aaron gave up his namesake to declare his love in one way or another. He almost gags at the thought.

“I like it when you say my name like that, baby,” Hamilton says, and his tone tells Aaron that he’s joking. Still off putting. He’s not entirely sure that he’d ever put aimless flirting past Hamilton, because as far as he can tell the man has no boundaries or sense of propriety, but it makes it very different in this context. Because they’re _married_ , and everything about this is too real, too bright, stinging a bit from the hangover he is now entirely convinced that he has. Aaron lifts a hand to his face, presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. His headache has sharpened from Hamilton annoying him, the dull ache now persistent at the front of his skull. He draws his hands away, stiffens his face back up.

“Quit flirting with me,” he demands, still frowning back at Hamilton. “I’m not interested.” He stumbles over his words again, curses himself for having a tell. Because, if he’s honest, Hamilton is intriguing to him. He’s annoying and pushy and awful but he’s also interesting. Under any other circumstances, as much as he hates to say it, he might give in and fool around with him a little bit more. For researching purposes more than pleasure, really, just to find out what exactly it was that _worked_ between them. But right now, he’s married to Hamilton, and he has his last name and a poorly fitting ring on his finger, plus a night that he still doesn’t really remember. It’s really not an option right now. Hamilton tilts his head. “Mhm, sure, whatever you say, Aaron. But it was good, right?” Aaron stares blankly back at him. _Why_ does he have to press so hard at this? Aaron doesn’t answer, and so Hamilton prods more. “C’mon, we had fun. Right?”

“Yes, Alexander,” Aaron snaps, his patience worn incredibly thin. “I had a great time fucking you. It was lovely. But there’ll be no more of it.” Hamilton looks slightly taken aback at this, but it has the intended effect. He steps down, stops pressing the point of how _great_ their sex was. Thank god. He sets the paper back on the bed in between them, and they both stare down at it pointlessly, like it’ll do something. It doesn’t, just sits there and confirms their union over and over, every time they read it. Oh happy, glorious day. Not.

“What’s the plan exactly?” Aaron asks eventually, and Hamilton makes a noise in his throat. He lifts a hand to his chin, scratches thoughtfully at his scruff. Aaron thinks he looks like an asshole. “Well, I was thinking,” he begins, and Aaron already takes that as a bad sign. “I was thinking that before we divorce. We should find out what happened last night.”

“Before?” Aaron echoes incredulously, and Hamilton nods. “Yes, before. Listen Aaron, _something_ made us decide to get married last night. And even though alcohol was probably involved, I think it was mostly the something else.” And there it is. Hamilton’s basically laid Aaron’s own feelings on the table, because he’s been thinking the same since they made the connection between the flowers and his tie. He supposes they could chalk it up to love being in the air, what with Angelica’s marriage to John Church just hours before theirs, but he knows that no one really believes that they’re in love. Not that he loves Hamilton anyway, he doesn’t even like him but, maybe he did last night, with copious amounts of alcohol in the both of them. He finds himself nodding, agreeing to Hamilton’s plan.

“Alright. I’ll need to finish getting dressed.” Hamilton looks down at himself, then at the rest of his scattered clothes on the floor. Aaron already knows what he’s thinking. He’s way ahead of him though, rolling his eyes as he stands, digs out a spare shirt from his own suitcase and tosses it on the bed beside him. Hamilton’s eyes brighten and he opens his mouth to say something but Aaron stops him before he can. “Shut up. I just don’t want people seeing you walk of shame-ing out of my room. There are other people from the-” he pauses, realizes there was more than wedding that he was in attendance to. Christ. “-from Angelica’s wedding here. I don’t want them to think that we, you know.” Hamilton grins back at him, tugs his wrinkled dress shirt off of his shoulders. “If any of them share a wall with this room, they already know.” Aaron rolls his eyes and turns away, mostly because he’s stripping again but also partially because he’s right. Hamilton was _loud_ , Aaron remembers that very well, and he thinks if he ever forgets that it’d be a miracle. Hamilton laughs at him again, pulling on his shirt. Aaron turns to look when he gives the okay, is shocked by the pang of affection he feels at the image Hamilton swimming in his shirt. It’s definitely too big for him, Hamilton has much narrower shoulders. Usually, he just looks ratty in clothes like that. Aaron supposes it could just be a natural reaction to seeing someone wear your clothes. Either way, he shakes the feeling off, hopefully for good.

“So,” he asks instead, focusing on his feet and not Hamilton doing up his pants, “How do we find out what happened last night?” Hamilton crosses the room towards him, slides his fingers under Aaron’s chin to tip his head upward. He’s smiling, too close to Aaron. When he answers, “I thought you’d never ask,” Aaron feels his breath warm his face.

-

If Aaron wanted to be honest with Hamilton, which he really doesn’t, he’d tell him that he is nervous. Because he is, which is stupid, but some part of him tells him that anyone who they find will _know_. They’ve both already taken their rings off, though Hamilton insisted that they carry them along in their pockets. Still, it’s left a slight indent on Aaron’s finger, a clear indicator of something being slightly off. Hamilton’s friends are all too observant, he knows that, and so he worries. The way Aaron sees it, if no one was at their wedding in the flesh, then no one needs to know.

And that’s the thing; they don’t know whose door this actually _is_. Hamilton had been incorrect, and really what a shocker, because he believed that they’d be able to tell the front desk that they were a part of the Schuyler-Church wedding party and the clerk would tell them who is in what room. Aaron had told him outright how he thought it sounded like bullshit, but Hamilton insisted. And when Hamilton insists, he won’t be ignored or brushed aside for anything, Aaron learns that very well very quickly. Because when he tries to tell Hamilton that the idea is likely the stupidest thing he’s ever heard, Hamilton digs his nails into Aaron’s forearm and drags him downstairs regardless, almost forgetting to take the ring off. And surely enough, Hamilton is wrong. The poor clerk, a stringy little man no older than nineteen or twenty, fumbles with his fingers and stutters out that he can’t do that. To give out the information of other guests is against policy. Aaron has to hold back an eye roll because he could have figured that without ever speaking to the clerk, but Hamilton opens his mouth back up like he’s going to say something in return, likely not anything kind. Aaron sticks his arm out in front of Hamilton’s chest to keep him back and outright cuts him off. He thanks the clerk anyway, tells him that they’ll be going on their way. And Hamilton’s gaze sharpens, he looks absolutely furious, but for the second time in his life he listens to Aaron. They walk back up the stairs together, Aaron with a hot cocktail of anger and pride burning in his chest, Hamilton with his tail between his legs.

So this door could have anything behind it. It might not even be anyone they know but Aaron feels his insides twisting and jumping, scattering together messily before reassembling themselves. Hamilton raises his hand, knocks out a small tune on the wood of the door. They wait.

They wait a long time, actually, because no one answers. When it’s nearing a full minute since they knocked, Aaron feels his panic starting to mount so he turns on his heel, gives Hamilton a pointed glare. “I don’t think anyone is here. We should go.”

“Have a little faith, Aaron, please,” Hamilton says with a scoff. Then, in an act that really should surprise Aaron but really does not, he lowers himself to the ground and puts his eye up to the crack under the door. “I see feet!” he reports loudly, and if Aaron weren’t such a nice person, he would kick Hamilton in the back of the head. Hamilton sits back on his heels, looks up at Aaron. “There’s someone in there. They’re just avoiding us.”

“Well, then they clearly don’t want to be bothered. Let’s just _go_.” Aaron takes a step back, beckons Hamilton to follow him. The man doesn’t budge from the floor. Aaron turns back to him, lets out an exasperated groan. “I’m not going to beg you, Hamilton.”

“Wouldn’t care if you did,” is the response, and then Hamilton gets back on his feet, presses his ear to the door and knocks again, harder. “I know you’re in there!” he yells over his knocking, and Aaron is about two seconds from turning away and just leaving. Hamilton turns around to look at him, taking in short breaths like he’s winded himself. “Well?” he asks Aaron, like there’s a very obvious answer that he should get in return. Aaron glowers back at him. “Well, what?”

“Well are you going to _help me_?” Hamilton asks huffily, and Aaron decides that’s enough of that. He shakes his head as Hamilton goes back to pounding on the door, starts down the hall. He’s made it all of two steps when the doorknob wheels around, pulls open so fast that Hamilton almost falls over. Aaron freezes in place, can’t move a muscle. He can’t quite see into the room, but someone is certainly standing there.

“Alex?” the voice asks, and Hamilton straightens up, brushes his hands down the front of his- Aaron’s- shirt. “Good morning,” he says, and it might sound smooth coming out of anyone else’s mouth. Aaron laughs despite his best efforts, and the person in the door leans out of the frame to find him. “Aaron? What are you two doing here?” And the acknowledgment means that Aaron is trapped. He heaves a sigh so heavy it hurts his chest, steps back up into the doorway.

Strangely enough, the person at the door is Angelica. She’s basically the one person they had marked up as impossible to find, she’s supposed to have been in a private room. Beside him, Hamilton looks similarly confused, and in his usual act of disregard for all social niceties, he blurts, “What are you doing here?” Angelica looks taken aback for a split second before she draws it in, pushes a smile to her lips. Just like Angelica to always play the part of grace. She rakes a hand back through her hair. “I’m just dropping by Eliza’s room for a visit. I miss the days when it was just me and my sisters, you know?” Something unspoken lingers at the end of her sentence, but Aaron certainly won’t press. Hamilton looks like he might, what with the exaggerated head tilt and narrowed eyes, but he lets whatever he’s thinking drop. Aaron steps forward to make sure it stays that way, clears his throat to let them know that he’ll be doing the talking now. He smiles politely back at Angelica. “Anyway. We’ve come because Hamilton and I have a bit of a problem.”

“It’s actually a fairly large problem,” Hamilton amends, shoving his way forward into the doorway. And then, like he’s _trying_ to ruin Aaron’s life, he tacks on, “And stop calling me Hamilton.” Angelica’s forced expression breaks open wide, she raises an eyebrow. “Why do you have to stop calling him Hamilton?” she asks Aaron first, and then turns on Hamilton to repeat the question. She looks back at them wide eyed and silent, and it’s very clear that she’s not going to address the first part of their story without getting answers from them. Aaron drops his face into his palms. He’s planning on not replying, but it dawns on him that if he doesn’t Hamilton will. He snaps his head up, ready to sweep their secret under the rug, but he’s a second too late. Hamilton lets out a nervous laugh. “Because… well, I’ve asked him to stop calling me Hamilton because-”

“Because Alexander and I are friends now,” Aaron cuts in smoothly, because Hamilton is absolutely floundering up there and as entertaining as Aaron finds it, it’s his reputation on the line, too. Hamilton gives him a look that conveys his entire thought process of _she’ll never fall for that_. He’s probably right; Angelica is one of their shared friends, and so she’s had the unique pleasure of seeing them try to interact in a casual setting. That also means that she knows how uncomfortable they’ve always been together, how hard it is to get them to have a conversation that isn’t a thinly veiled argument. Still, Aaron figures it’s just about as convincing as their real situation. He taps Hamilton’s calf with the heel of his shoe to tell him to shut up, he can handle this. As usual, Hamilton ignores him, kicks him back and opens his mouth again just to spite him. 

“Yeah, we’re friends,” he repeats, giving Angelica that smile that he keeps giving when he says stupid things. “We hung out a bit at the wedding, and realized we have a lot in common.” Aaron has to hold back a snort at that. If it wasn’t unbelievable before, it certainly is now. Still, Angelica just tilts her head to the side, furrows her brows. “Oh. I guess that would make sense.”

“It would?” Hamilton asks with a squeak, and Aaron has to tap his leg again to shut him up, a bit harder this time. Angelica nods, leans against the door frame casually. “Yeah. I kinda thought it was weird that you two were talking at the after party, but I guess if you say you’re friends.” Aaron tries hard to downplay how excited he is at getting even a little bit more information, and how equally disgusted he is that he apparently was so _friendly_ with Hamilton that outsiders could tell. Beside him, Hamilton struggles with the same series of thoughts. Aaron doesn’t remember talking to Hamilton at the party, or even being anywhere near him, and so anything she knows could help. He clears his throat. “I didn’t think you were at that party.” Angelica’s smile dries back up into the forced one she’d had when the door opened and she stands away from the edge of the door again, straightens her back. “I just wanted to spend a bit more time with my friends. John went back to the hotel room, so.” She shrugs, waves it away before Aaron can ask any more questions. “What was the problem you were talking about?”

“More on that in a second,” Hamilton huffs out, sounding rushed and vaguely annoyed. He rolls his hands around each other in a motion for her to continue. “What exactly did you see?” Angelica looks skeptical, but she crosses her arms over her chest and nods. “Alright. Aaron ran smack into your chest coming back from the bar and spilled his drinks all over you.” Aaron lets out an involuntary groan. Oh, yes. He remembers that now. He’d gotten his two drinks, turned around and walked directly into Hamilton. Hamilton, unfortunately, isn’t much taller than him, and so they’d smacked their heads together hard. Aaron’s headache comes back in full force as if to remind him. That explains that, or the headache at least. It doesn’t explain why they’d wind up sitting together, though, or how they wound up exchanging vows. Perhaps Angelica doesn’t know as much as they thought she did, they should go look somewhere else.

Aaron realizes he’s been silent too long, lifts his head to find Angelica already looking him over, sizing him up. She shakes her head, pokes her finger into the center of Aaron’s chest. “You two are acting weird. Something else is up.”

Aaron glances quickly at Hamilton. He figures they have to work together here, as difficult as that may be for them. They can’t just tell Angelica that they’re married, she’d just laugh at them and slam the door. Despite how little it may be, she clearly knows _something_ , and everything that could explain a bit of how they got to where they are now is necessary. They need her. Hamilton gives Aaron a similarly panicked look, shrugs slightly as if to tell him, go for it. Aaron scratches at the back of his neck, fumbles for words. He’s typically pretty quick on his feet and able to fake his way through a conversation, but it seems near impossible right now. Any story they could tell would sound like a lie. There’s really no way to excuse Hamilton being his friend. He stares back at her dumbly. Aaron can almost pinpoint the moment Hamilton takes note of the the long pause, and then oh-so valiantly decides to take action and jump back into the conversation. “Well,” he says, linking and unlinking his fingers in front of himself, “I’m afraid Aaron here doesn’t remember most of the night.”

“ _What_?” Angelica and Aaron hiss back at him in sync. Hamilton shrugs, avoids the absolutely icy glare Aaron is giving him. “Oh yeah. He woke up with a bad headache and almost no memory of the after party. And so he came down to my room to see if I remembered any more than he did.” Hamilton forces out a laugh, clearly fake, and then says, “Aaron really can’t handle his alcohol, huh?” He swings a careless arm over Aaron’s shoulder, jostling him back and forth while he continues his awful fake laugh. Then, as if Aaron isn’t already embarrassed enough, Angelica nods and says, “You can say that again.”

“I can hold my alcohol just fine, thank you,” Aaron cuts back in, wriggling out from under Hamilton’s arm. Angelica shakes her head. “You really can’t, sweetheart.” She sighs, puts a finger to her cheekbone and looks up, thinking. “If it helps any, you guys, I know that you were sitting with Theodosia and Maria.” She waggles her eyebrows at Aaron, smiles knowingly. “And it seemed like you and Theo hit it off pretty well, huh?” Aaron’s chest tightens up, does a strange little twist. They really _did_ ; it certainly seems like they should’ve wound up together. Or at least, he should’ve gotten her number. Maybe he did and he doesn’t remember, he thinks to check the pockets of his dress pants still lying on the floor-

He realizes he’s been silent too long again. He nods back at her. “Yes. We did.” And then, on a gamble, he adds, “We kissed.” Angelica makes a small sound of approval in her throat, her smile getting wider. “That’s good. I think you’d be good together.” Her eyes flit back to Hamilton for a split second, and Aaron thinks he might be sick if he doesn’t get out of this conversation soon. He clears his throat. “Well. Thank you for the help, Angelica. I should really head off, though, my room is still a complete mess.” Really, he’s just thinking about finding Theodosia’s phone number. Maybe if he calls her now, he can fix whatever unintentional damage was caused. 

“Oh, sure, sure.” Angelica nods, swings one of her braids over her shoulder and starts playing with the end of it. Aaron gives a weak wave, goes to turn back down the hall to his room but notices something in her face. Her eyes brighten and she seems to be remembering something, so Aaron pauses, lets her speak. She looks relieved that he stayed. “Well, listen. If you’re interested-” she means if he’s not too hungover, because Hamilton has now convinced her that he was blackout drunk last night “-the rest of us are meeting for brunch in a bit. I can text you the place and time.” She glances at Hamilton again. “Of course, that invitation extends to you too, Alex.” Aaron thinks it over for a moment, and is about to politely decline the offer in favor of calling Theodosia, but doesn’t get the chance before Hamilton is speaking for him. “Oh yeah, for sure, we’ll be there. We’d love to, Angelica. Definitely. Definitely.” His words are all rushed and jumbled together, but that’s really not that out of place for him. Angelica doesn’t even look mildly affected. She just nods, smiles cheerily back at the two of them. “Great. See you then.” She closes her door without anything further, and Aaron turns on Hamilton. “What the hell was _that_?” he asks, sure to keep his voice down for fear of Angelica overhearing. Hamilton gives a loose shrug. “It’s not like we had anything better to do.”

“Nothing comes to mind? Really? How about our _divorce_?” He gives Hamilton a fully unrestrained glare, puts every bit of contempt he feels for the man into the stare, and feels fairly accomplished when Hamilton cowers back a bit. He’s going a bit mad with the power, huffs out, “And stop referring to us as a _‘we’_.” Aaron turns and starts down the hall without waiting for him. He knows Hamilton is following him anyway, so he keeps whispering out his disapproval. “Also, the lie you told in place of our real story is never going to hold up. You don’t remember either.” He’s back in front of his room, fumbling angrily through his pocket to find the key. He’s sure he put it in his back pocket, but both sides are empty.

“What would you have wanted me to say, then? Want me to _tell_ her that we got married?” Hamilton now sounds just as angered as Aaron is, words all short and sharpened at the edges. It’s really too easy to work him to that state. In any other situation, Aaron would be entertained. Still patting down his pockets, he shakes his head. “Not exactly, I’d just rather you not call me a lightweight in front of- Where is the fucking _key_?” He tugs his front pockets out, hangs the fabric outside of the opening and shakes them. His ring tumbles out unceremoniously onto the floor, but nothing else. Hamilton gives him a look, and then like he can just do whatever he want, reaches his hand into Aaron’s back pocket and starts feeling.

Aaron practically yelps, jumps away from him with his face burning. Hamilton’s palm is warm, almost hot on him through the layer of denim. Aaron shakes out of his hold, presses his back to the wall. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asks sharply, and his voice is fairly louder and a bit higher than it was before. Hamilton holds his hands up in surrender, but his self-satisfied grin gives away his true feelings. “Chill out. I found it.” Surely enough, from between his fingers, Hamilton pulls the key to Aaron’s hotel room. Aaron blinks back at him dumbly for a moment, unsure of what to say. Finally, he settles on just snatching it from him, glaring down at the door knob like if he focuses hard enough he might be able to make Hamilton burst into flames behind him. As he goes in, he kicks the ring over the threshold fiercely. As much as he hates it, hates this entire mess he’s tangled himself into, nothing good could come of someone finding an abandoned wedding ring outside his door. Much like a puppy trailing it’s master, Hamilton follows after him, closes the door behind them. Aaron wheels around on him again, ready to give him another piece of his mind, but when he finds Hamilton just looking back at him like he’s confused he feels some of the anger drain out of his blood. He heaves a sigh. “Well. Thanks to you, we’re roped into brunch now.” It’s still not exactly nice, but at least it’s not an argument. That’s the best Aaron is willing to do right now.

“Yeah,” Hamilton responds, and takes two long steps across the hotel room to sit on the foot of the bed. “And we have a little more information about last night.” He pauses, and then cautiously says, “I didn’t know you and Theodosia knew each other.” If Aaron didn’t know better, he might think there’s a hint of jealousy in Hamilton’s voice.

“We just met last night,” Aaron corrects him shortly, picking his discarded pants from the night before off the carpet. “But she was pretty and smart, and so I was interested.”

“Must be why you picked me, too,” Hamilton says, and while he mostly sounds like he’s joking, there’s some air of arrogance in his tone. Aaron scoffs, thrusts his hand deep into the pocket of the dress pants he has in his hands. “Shut up.”

“Hey, it was a joke.” Hamilton sounds like he has something more to say, but instead he lets the end of his sentence hang at an odd note. Aaron scrambles through all of the pockets in search of anything that could have Theodosia’s phone number on it. Much to his dismay, he comes away empty handed except for a condom wrapper. Jesus christ. At least they were safe about it.

“If it makes you feel any better, I was trying to flirt with Maria.” He breathes heavily out his nose. “And completely failing.” Aaron casts a glance back at him. He’s laid back against the mattress sideways, his arms folded neatly behind his head. Aaron bites back the urge to laugh at him. “Good luck. She just got out of a nasty divorce.” That much is true. Aaron was honestly surprised to see her at a wedding so soon after, she seemed fairly distraught about the entire thing. Aaron was the one who handled her divorce, and thank god _someone_ did. Years too late, really, or so he thinks. Her ex-husband is an outright monster, no one should have to suffer through that sort of relationship. He folds the pants over his arm, lays them with the rest of his dirty clothes in his suitcase. Then, deciding to lighten the mood a bit, Aaron adds, “Besides, she’s out of your league.”

“If leagues were a thing that actually mattered, Aaron, I wouldn’t have woken up in your bed this morning.” Whether that’s a self-depreciating compliment or an outright insult, Aaron isn’t sure, but he decides not to press on it. Hamilton can say what he likes. Aaron doesn’t care. Hamilton yawns, scratches at his chin. “At least we won’t have to go knocking on any doors. Because we’ll see the whole wedding party, you know?”

“That includes Thomas,” Aaron points out dryly. “And he was for sure there to witness our union.”

“Right,” Hamilton sighs back, flips onto his stomach to look over at Aaron. “And hanging out with Jefferson at all isn’t something I’ll ever look forward to.” Aaron closes his suitcase, sits on top of it. He doesn’t want to share the bed with Hamilton again. They’re so close to conversing like normal people that it’s almost frightening, and he kind of wants to see how far they can take this. “Jefferson’s really not that bad,” he tells him, and Hamilton laughs back at him. “He’s not that bad because he’s worse,” Hamilton says, and he has a sort of challenge in his tone that means he wants Aaron to argue with him. Aaron won’t take his bait. Instead of responding right away, he just hums in reply, a light sound that has no real meaning. Let Hamilton think what he will of that.

“I think he’s nice,” Aaron answers finally, once his silence has started to make Hamilton squirm impatiently. He’s never been good at waiting. Nothing has changed, really, save for Aaron’s last name. Hamilton makes a rude snorting sound but says nothing more. The silence that follows is so comfortable that it’s jarring. Aaron stands up from his suitcase, stretches his legs out. Hamilton watches him, then sits up and crosses his legs, leans forward on his hands. “So, about the next time we need to lie to someone,” he starts, and Aaron just casts him a bored look before turning back to his suitcase, pretending to be looking for something. Really, he just doesn’t want to listen to whatever Hamilton is going to say. His voice has flipped back up into that commanding one he almost always has, the one that he uses to show that he thinks he’s smarter than you. Aaron finds it fairly easy to ignore, because no way in _hell_ is Hamilton smarter than him. Hamilton continues despite Aaron ignoring him, his voice a little louder and more pushy, if that were possible. “Next time, I think you should just let me take the lead, because when we tried to interchange it was just messy.” Aaron turns now, furrowing his brow. “Why should I let you lead?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m the one who talked us out of that nightmare with Angelica.” Aaron shakes his head, walks to the edge of the bed to talk to him face to face. “I could’ve done the same had you minded your business and let me speak.” Hamilton shakes his head back at him, his face reddening as he works himself into an angry fit. “Most of the people at this brunch are friends with _me_ , Aaron. I know how to fool them better than you would.”

“We wouldn’t be going to the stupid brunch at all if it weren’t for you.”

“We wouldn’t be _married_ if it weren’t for you,” Hamilton fires back, and Aaron sinks onto the bed beside him. “You have no idea which one of us initiated the marriage,” he answers calmly. Hamilton laughs again, short and mean. “It wouldn’t have been me.”

“Well, it had to have been one of us,” Aaron answers simply, his own _not me_ surely implied. “And we both said I do. Honestly, there’s no point in us arguing about it.” Hamilton gives him a dark look, his eyes practically switchblades. Then all at once the fire seeps out of his gaze and he just looks silly with his brows all lowered and his mouth twisted into a sneer. He rolls back onto his back, tosses his arm over his face. “I hate to say this, Aaron, because you usually aren’t, but you’re right.”

“Yes, I know. And so we’re going to have to go to the party and play nice.” Hamilton draws his arm away from his face to raise an eyebrow up at Aaron in the stupid way he keeps doing when he decides that Aaron’s said something suggestive. Aaron rolls his eyes, waves his hand vaguely to tell Hamilton to not even bother with the joke, he can already guess it. For the third time, both today and ever, Hamilton takes his advice. He heaves another sigh in place of words.

“You should go get changed,” Aaron tells him finally, and Hamilton almost laughs. “What, don’t want me showing up in your shirt? C’mon, Aaron, I’m your husband after all. Loosen up a bit.” Aaron wants to flinch as the word _husband_ hits his ears, but he doesn’t. He stares evenly back at Hamilton. “Go.” His words have some ringing finality to them that Hamilton seems to pick up on. He mumbles something rude under his breath, plucks the shirt away from his chest to punctuate it, and turns on his heel to leave.

Aaron stands and locks the door behind him. Really, he should just skip the brunch, catch a flight back to New York and drop the divorce papers on Hamilton’s desk Monday. He’s tempted by it. He thinks he actually might if it weren’t Angelica’s wedding. As awfully as the weekend has turned out for him, Angelica is one of his oldest friends, and he can’t step out on her with a clear conscience. He’s committed, whether or not it was his choice to make the commitment. He has to go.

Aaron showers for longer than is likely necessary. Mostly, he stays in so he can pretend he doesn’t hear when Hamilton starts banging on the door and demanding he be let back in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why is angelica so shady? and what exactly do the others from the wedding party know? all will be revealed....
> 
> thank u for reading and double double thank u for kudos/comments! im on tumblr @schuyburr for all ur hamburr needs
> 
> ALSO school just got back in session for me!! please forgive if the next installment isnt posted in a super timely fashion


	2. Chapter 2

“Repeat it back to me.”

“I really don’t think this is necessary, Aaron.” Hamilton is trailing a fair amount behind Aaron, almost panting as he drags himself along. As much as he likes to claim he thrives in the heat, and Aaron _knows_ he likes to claim it because he’s done so five times since they got outside, Aaron is hard pressed to believe Hamilton could easily survive in any climate. Aaron’s asked him several times if he’d like to stop and catch his breath, and every time Hamilton has fiercely spit back how insulting that is, since he was born and raised in the Nevis, and he can ‘handle heat better than your New Jersey-dwelling ass could ever imagine’. Aaron gives him a weak nod in response, but slows his own usually speedy walk to a crawl to allow him to keep up. Aaron rolls his eyes. “It wouldn’t be necessary if I had the slightest bit of faith that you’ll refrain from saying something stupid.”

“We’re sticking to the story I told Angelica for continuity purposes. There, are you happy?” Aaron has stopped on the sidewalk to wait for him to catch up, and Hamilton doesn’t even seem to notice. “Thank you,” he says, and only a touch of sarcasm comes with the words. Hamilton turns to give him a disgustingly sweet smile. “See? I knew it all along. Aren’t I a smart cookie?”

“Oh, of course. I’m sure that’s why I married you,” Aaron mumbles back, and Hamilton almost trips over his own feet in his slow shuffle. Aaron sees him steadying himself, a smile that seems almost warm spreading across his lips. “So you’ve finally accepted that you married me because of how incredibly charming I am?”

“You’re definitely incredibly _something_ ,” Aaron answers, and from the way Hamilton huffs in response Aaron can assume that his meaning got through. He’s decided to be civil at the least. Hamilton is being especially annoying today, yes, but he must be stressed out about the entire marriage thing as well. Besides, he can’t actually tell if Hamilton is worse right now than he’s been other times, because this is the longest they’ve ever had to be in direct contact with each other. Luckily, it gives Aaron a reference to use in the future. Which means he’s decided to never hang out with him ever again.

They’re just within seeing distance of the cafe when they see the first person they recognize. He’s kind of impossible to miss, considering he’s six feet tall and striding across the crosswalk like he owns it. When Hamilton sees him he groans out loud, follows it with a very meaningful utterance of the word, “ _Fuck_.” And then, to not be mistaken, he’s sure to add on, “What a fucking asshole.” Which is fair, Aaron thinks. Jefferson _does_ look like an asshole. It can’t be less than one hundred degrees outside, and he’s wearing a full suit, a deep wine red and impeccably tailored. If the heat is affecting him at all, he doesn’t show it, just breezes across the street with that air of superiority that he always carries. His hair isn’t even tied back to keep it off his neck, it’s just bouncing carelessly around his shoulders and bracketing his face like a picture frame of tight ringlets. He might as well be twirling a cane. For as much as Aaron tries to defend him, Jefferson really is a bit of a prick. He just exudes that sort of energy. The light changes back to green just as his toe touches the opposite side of the street, as if perfectly cued up for him. He even pauses a moment on the cafe’s doorstep like he’s posing for some invisible camera. Hamilton is absolutely fuming by the time the door swings shut behind him, mumbling obscenities and clenching his fists at his side. They make it all the way up to the stoplight before realizing that someone else from the wedding party is waiting there too.

Really, they should have known Madison would be just a few strides behind Jefferson. He always is, walks at his own lumbering pace that makes everything he does seem calculating. He turns slowly to face Aaron, gives him a short nod of acknowledgment. His eyes flick over to Hamilton, back to Aaron, then back at both of them. His eyes smile despite his lips not moving. “Oh.” That’s all he has to say for Aaron to know. Hamilton catches on a few seconds later, his face falling. “Oh,” he parrots back, his tone bitter. They should have expected him to know, too, he’s Jefferson’s best friend, after all. He was probably at the wedding himself. Madison raises one eyebrow back at them to the best of his ability, which is just a twitch of his right brow. “Sleep well?” he asks casually, and Hamilton lets out another stream of curse words for his trouble. Aaron just rigidly stares back at him. 

It takes a moment, but Madison seems to realize he won’t get a full reaction that way. He turns the rest of the way around, tilts his head. “You two were mighty friendly last night,” he drawls out, and Aaron wants to vomit. For as much as Jefferson likes to brag about his southern drawl, Madison is actually worse on that front. His farm is still operating despite his steady job as a lawyer, and he takes a great deal of pride in it. Aaron knows _exactly_ how much pride he has in it because sometimes it seems like that’s all he and Jefferson talk about. Them and their big money farms in Virginia, them and their family that came from nothing and made themselves rich. They almost like to pretend that they’ve ever done a hard day’s work in their life, like they didn’t inherit the farm from family who’d bought it after their own emancipation. And sure, that’s something to be proud of, but not a conversation topic that should really span three plus hours. It’s annoying, really, annoying is the best word for it, because Aaron can’t find the heart to call it pretentious. It is, but he’d just call it _annoying_.

“And?” Aaron prompts, because he can tell that if he lets Hamilton open his mouth that there’ll be nothing but a rumpled handkerchief left of Madison once he’s through with his verbal assault. At least Aaron can read him well enough to know that now. Madison coughs into the bend of his elbow, doesn’t even spare the time to bring out his handkerchief. “I was just commenting on it. Seemed strange, if you ask me.”

“If you ask Jefferson, more like. You can’t formulate your own opinions without influence from that rat-faced fuck barbell.” Madison doesn’t even pretend to be shocked at Hamilton’s insult. “Actually,” he says boredly, “a lot of his opinions are based around my own. So.” He coughs again, actually has the decency to pull his kerchief out of his pocket and do it into that. Behind him, the light flicks over to red, the crosswalk cleared. None of them walk.

“It seemed strange,” Madison repeats, his accent stretching his words lazily. He talks like a cat stalks its prey. If it weren’t so absolutely egregious, Aaron thinks, it might be nice. Perhaps it would be, in someone else’s mouth. “Strange because you two have never really gotten along. At all. In fact, Aaron, you’ve always been more partial to Thomas and I.” Way to throw him under the bus. Aaron feels a bit like the prey now. Madison puts a finger to his chin, looks away as if thinking. “I wonder what may have happened to remedy those bad feelings.” He turns back, eyes Aaron almost hungrily. Too bad he doesn’t have what Madison wants.

“You can cut the crap, James,” Aaron answers curtly. Madison draws back a bit at the swear, takes his hand away from his face only to start coughing again. Politely, Aaron waits for the fit to end before he speaks again. “I remember little to nothing about last night.” Strangely, this time the admission of that information makes him feel more powerful than exposed and weak. It must be something in the way that the viciousness goes out of Madison’s eyes, how he seems to shrink back into himself. Aaron feels his lips curl involuntarily into a smirk. Madison has always intimidated him a bit, and to have that victory over him is a pretty great feeling. “Oh,” he says again, and he eyes Aaron for any faults before turning on Hamilton again. “And you?”

“I remember absolutely fuck-all,” Hamilton reports proudly, crossing his arms over his chest. He glances over at Aaron, almost as if seeking approval. Aaron just rolls his eyes. Madison is frowning, disappointment rolling in dark sheets through his eyes. He doesn’t say anything. “You can stop pressing us for answers, then,” Hamilton adds on, and he sounds almost smug. He starts to wave Madison across the street, right into oncoming traffic no less, but Aaron stops him. Christ. The man needs to learn to wait. “Actually, anything you know could be of great help to us,” Aaron tells him calmly, and he can practically feel Hamilton bubbling up with anger beside him. “We’re trying to piece the night together.” As Aaron speaks, Madison’s expression shifts from dismay back to intrigue. “So you need my help,” he clarifies, and as much as it pains him Aaron nods. Madison’s evil smile comes back in full force. “Alright. But first, I want Hamilton to apologize for saying I don’t have a mind of my own. And for what he called Thomas.” Aaron can almost see their chances of getting answers going down the drain. Hamilton doesn’t apologize. It’s kind of his thing, he just speaks without thinking and everyone has to accept it. To ask him to be sorry, especially out loud, is to ask him to move a mountain. Hamilton stiffens up his posture, stares indignantly back at Madison. Neither of them budge.

“Hamilton,” Aaron urges him eventually, nudging him with an elbow. The way Madison is talking, he clearly knows a lot more than poor Angelica did. It’s vital information, they _need_ to know. As difficult as it may be for him to do so, Hamilton needs to suck up his pride. Honestly, he’s as bad as Jefferson is sometimes. Hamilton turns, gives Aaron a very pointed look, and Aaron practically growls back at him, drops his voice a low whisper to keep Madison from hearing. “Fine. _Alexander,_ would you please apologize to James?” Hamilton’s lips curl up into a sneer, like the very idea puts a bad taste in his mouth. Still, he ponies up, says, “I’m sorry for saying you don’t have a mind of your own.” Aaron nudges him again, and Hamilton heaves a deep sigh. “And I’m sorry for pointing out Jefferson’s rat-like face.”

“Hmm,” Madison responds in mock contemplation. “I don’t know. You didn’t _sound_ very sorry.” His grin gets wider, curls up at the ends. “Call him a handsome man.” Hamilton’s eyes widen, and he stamps his foot like a child throwing a tantrum. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!” he whines, but Aaron doesn’t say anything to save him and Madison’s smile doesn’t even flicker. Hamilton’s eye twitches, but he spits out, “Jefferson is _extremely_ handsome. So hot. I’d blow him in the bathroom stall at work. I _have_ blown him in the bathroom stall at work.”

“That’s slander, Hamilton.” Madison wrinkles his nose like he’s picturing that now. Aaron certainly is. The disgust on his face fades, and Madison acknowledges him with a curt nod. “But it's good enough for me.” Madison crosses his arms over his chest. “What do you need to know?”

“Anything would help,” Aaron responds, because Hamilton is too busy sulking to say anything. Madison frowns again, and then almost cringes as he speaks. “Honestly, I think I know too much.” The way he says that makes Aaron not want to find out. Still, he’s come this far, may as well take the plunge. He scratches at one of his shoulders. “We know up to the point of us sitting with two girls, Theodosia and Maria. Anything you know past that is necessary.” Madison chokes back a laugh. “Oh my,” he says, his voice and face the picture of amusement. “You weren’t lying. You really don’t remember anything.”

“Just say it before we all die of old age,” Hamilton grumps, his chin tucked towards his chest. Madison swipes invisible tears from his eyes. “Where do I even begin? With you two grinding on each other? Or with Hamilton biting your neck, Aaron?” Madison runs a finger through the air in a slicing motion, only inches from Aaron’s neck. Aaron flinches backwards, hands flying instinctively to his neck to cover himself. He tries to discreetly press at the skin there and surely enough, there’s the resounding ache of a bite pushed into several places on him, the centerpiece being a huge spot right at the dip where his collarbones meet. He wishes he knew how Hamilton knew that to be his favorite spot to be bitten. His face is flaming. “Whichever came first,” he replies, his voice embarrassingly tight and small in his chest. The sting from the hickies is still at the forefront of his mind.

Madison laughs brightly again, clearly enjoying this act of torture. “Well, pardon me if I’m wrong, Aaron, but it started with you flirting with that Theodosia girl. Seemed pretty successful.” Aaron flinches. He wishes more than anything right now that people would stop pointing out how well he and Theodosia got on. It’s just making him regret what could’ve been, what should’ve happened. He gives a tiny nod to encourage Madison to continue, and it's enough, because Madison turns his careful scrutiny onto Hamilton. “Hamilton, on the other hand, you were swinging at everything and missing every time. Maria, was it? She wasn’t interested in the slightest.” Aaron catches sight of Hamilton’s face going pink. He doesn’t say anything for once in his life, and Madison seems pleased enough with that reaction. He continues. “Hm, but, luckily for our friend the tomcat here-” he gestures to Hamilton to make sure that they all know who the tomcat is supposed to be “-someone in the bar was _incredibly_ interested in you.” He gives a sigh, a short nod. “Yes, I think things really did take a turn for the better when you started flirting with Aaron.” The air is eerily still around them, thick and hard to swallow. Perhaps that thought is freudian, but Aaron chooses to consider that some other time. They both stay quiet, wait for Madison to set the pace of their conversation.

“I was just walking by, so I can’t be entirely accurate, but.” Madison flicks one of his nails off the pad of another finger. “I’m fairly sure you were quite the seducer, Hamilton. Something along the lines of-” he drops his voice, holds a hand to his chest and sways back and forth vaguely “-’you’re just so _handsome_ , Aaron, so absolutely _enchanting_ ’.” Aaron’s heart does a twist, not in the sweet way. He remembers that now, if he really thinks about it. He’s fairly sure Hamilton called him _pretty_ , though, not handsome, and that’s worse in several ways. Something like that, and then a sappy comment about his eyes. He almost feels obligated to thank Madison for trying to spare him that embarrassment. Judging from the way Hamilton shrinks into himself, buries his face into his hands, he’s remembering that exchange and more. Aaron is just glad that he doesn’t remember any other of Hamilton’s compliments, or he’d surely burn away into nothing right here on the sidewalk.

“Yeah, the girls seemed entertained by it for a bit, but got sick of it fairly soon.” Madison gives a vague shrug. “Around the time Hamilton was draping himself across your lap, they were packing up their purses to leave the table.” Aaron can’t help but wonder, because this is his last tie to Theodosia, after all, so he asks, “When did they leave?” Madison tries to raise an eyebrow at him again, still fails. “Aaron, listen, I wasn’t actively watching the show. But when I went to get a drink, they were there, and by the time I came back you two were making out and they were gone.” Aaron’s stomach does a sick flip. Had he been kissing Hamilton in front of Theodosia? After he kissed her? What an absolutely _awful_ thing to do. No wonder he didn’t get her number, he acted a complete fool in front of her. That means there’s absolutely no chance of reconciling that momentary spark between them. Aaron is disgusted with himself, hardly even listening as Madison goes on recounting what he’d seen, how they’d practically cleared the dance floor with their obscene grinding. He doesn’t care. He’s just sorry, just feels sorry for himself, just wants to apologize to poor Theodosia.

Finally, Madison takes up a deep breath and stops talking, just surveys their faces with a twisted smile. Hamilton looks like he’d stopped listening too, because it takes him a moment to even register that Madison is done talking, snaps back to attention with a soft, “Hm.” He’s been lost in his thoughts, his brow furrowed down deep and his lip worried between his teeth. Their disengagement in the conversation is entirely lost on Madison, who still just stands before them and waits for some sort of response. Finally, Aaron clears his throat, shifts his weight around on his feet. “Thank you James. You’ve really helped clear some things up.” Madison’s smile turns too kind too fast, and Aaron is wary of that. Madison coughs into his handkerchief again, keeps giving Aaron the same smile. “It was no trouble, really. I do have a question of my own, though.” Aaron already regrets whatever he’s going to have to say in response. He shrugs. “Shoot.”

“Did you two, ah.” He pauses and tugs at the neck of his shirt, which is really unnecessary considering it’s already hanging low down on his chest. He clears his throat, gives another cough. “Did you really get... married? I hate to say it, but I thought Thomas may be exaggerating on that front.” Aaron’s heart sinks in his chest, and he sees Hamilton folding back up, his face still a deep pink flushed mess. There’s no point in avoiding it. If they tell Madison no, he’ll just ask Jefferson again. And knowing Jefferson, he probably has pictures to prove that the wedding happened. He likely has a picture of them standing a cheap alter, hands and lips alike intertwined, smiles twisting across their faces and--

The thought makes Aaron’s stomach upset again, further scrambles the mess that is his insides right now. He gives a stiff nod, ignores the tiny noise of protest that Hamilton makes. “Yes. We wound up married.” And then to clarify, as if Madison didn’t already know, probably just to make himself feel a little better, Aaron says, “We were incredibly drunk.”

“Oh, I’m sure, I'm sure." Madison licks his lips, his eyes all lit up with delight but his mouth still frowning. "One would have to be to marry Hamilton.” And just like that, Madison is smiling again, all traces of the nervous man he had become for a moment wiped away. Aaron is slightly disappointed at that. He and Madison were much closer before, but something about Jefferson’s presence transforms him. Or vice versa, Aaron isn’t sure. Hamilton gives Madison a sharp look but he doesn’t say anything, and then he just turns back to look at Aaron like he expects something. Whatever it is that he wants, Aaron doesn’t give it, redirects his attention back to Madison. “I thought if Jefferson was there, you would have been too.” Aaron is almost disappointed that Madison wasn’t there, that he can’t offer any more answers because he still isn’t sure where _there_ would even be. Hamilton’s memory of the night really did them no favors, just raised more questions than it answered. They still have no idea what convinced them to get married, all they know is that they scared away their prospective dates and practically dry humped each other while at the bar. His face gets warm at the thought, he has to tug his shirt away from the sweat sticking it down to his shoulders. It’s absolutely too hot to still be standing outside like this.

Madison’s expression shifts again, back out of the cruel one he gets sometimes. Instead, he just looks a bit annoyed. “Actually, no. I went back to the hotel early with a headache and a sore throat.” The edge of his mouth twitches. “Didn’t know I’d be missing out on such festivities.”

At that, Hamilton finally finds his voice again, his hands flying out in front of him like he might intend to use them if he gets much more upset. “There weren’t any festivities, for fuck’s sake. You’re acting like we fell in love or something.”

“He doth protest too much,” Madison almost sings back, and Aaron can almost see the flash of red that crosses Hamilton’s eyes. “Fuck you and your stupid cheese-fingered boyfriend.” Madison frowns, forces it so hard that it’s painfully fake. “Thomas and I aren’t a couple. Unlike you two.” Aaron’s chest is so tight that it hurts to breath, his heart thundering along at a horse’s pace. It’s not that he hasn’t seem Hamilton and Madison argue before, because he certainly has. Hamilton is too easy to respond to provocation, Madison is too good at arguing for his own good. It’s just that, this involves him too. He feels like perhaps he should be standing up for himself, but he’s not sure who he needs to stand to in this conversation. Madison is the one using him as an insult, yes, but Hamilton is the one reacting like he agrees.

“We aren’t a couple, damn it, we were _drunk._ ” Hamilton bumps Aaron with his elbow. “Right?” All Aaron needs to do is respond. He doesn’t even need to speak, just needs to nod his head. He feels like his neck is made of cement, sturdy and unwilling to move. Hamilton prods at him again. “Come on,” he says, his voice almost soft. “Back me up here, Aaron.” Madison jeers at them, at Hamilton calling him by his first name. Aaron has been careful throughout this exchange to just not use names, it’s bad enough now that Madison knows they’re married. Aaron will never live it down if he also finds out that he took Hamilton’s last name, too, that now he has to refer to him as _Alexander_ with that strange tenderness that the name gives whenever Aaron says it. Still, at the sound of the cruel laugh, Hamilton stiffens up his posture. Every bit of softness goes out of him, he clears his throat and glances at Aaron as if he’s frightened. “Burr.” 

The correction doesn’t help anything because Madison already heard Hamilton say it, but it almost hurts to hear it so plainly. Aaron supposes it’s possible that he’s gotten attached to the way Hamilton says his name within the last hour or two, however long it’s been since they woke up and found themselves in this mess. Aaron stays cemented in place, can’t even find the strength to cringe with his skin made of such heavy stone.

Madison looks completely unaffected one way or another. In fact, he doesn’t seem to even be deriving any more sick joy from watching Hamilton squirm. “Anyway. I think I’ll head on over to meet up with the rest of the party. Give you two a few moments alone, lord knows I’ve seen you kiss enough for a lifetime.” He even sounds bored, gazing down at his fingernails as if they’re the most entertaining thing that’s ever existed. He looks back up, gives them both a firm nod and then walks.

“Well, that was a pain in the ass,” Hamilton interrupts the silence after an uncharacteristically long pause. Aaron shakes his head, steps into the crosswalk. “Let’s just go,” he says, and he knows without looking that Hamilton will be following close behind.

On the other side of the street, there’s still a short walk to the cafe. It shouldn’t take more than a minute, but every step feels like a goddamn eternity. It’s baking, boiling hot, he just wants to get inside, and still Aaron can’t stop envisioning poor Theodosia. Even if he’s just being bigheaded in thinking that she was interested in him too, he knows that throwing himself at Hamilton in front of her was an impossibly shitty thing to do. And worse, now he’s _stuck_ with Hamilton, Hamilton right on his heels and mumbling under his breath about what an asshole Madison is, how he and his cocknosed sidekick can get fucked. Aaron feels a strange pit of anger building up in him, listening to Hamilton talk. Of course, that’s always happened when he’s been forced to listen to Hamilton and his half-baked attempts at insults and deep thinking, but this is different. This sort of anger isn’t a dull throb, instead it’s burning and bright like he caught a star in his chest and it’s nearing collapse. Because if he thinks about it, really thinks about it, this _is_ Hamilton’s fault. Hamilton’s fault for draping himself across Aaron’s lap like a throw blanket, for kissing at the sharp edge of his jaw and biting at his clavicle because _seriously how the fuck did he know that--_

“Aaron? Are you even listening to me?”

Aaron stops short, causes Hamilton to clatter into his back. Hamilton huffs something under his breath, just soft enough that Aaron can’t hear. He’s lucky, too, because if Aaron had heard, he’d likely be getting hit. He blinks a bead of sweat out of his eye. “No, I’m sorry. If you’d like to repeat it for me?” The calm in his own voice is startling. Aaron knows he’s good at keeping himself reeled in, has a fairly short leash on his emotions, but the contrast from the storm he feels brewing up and how he sounds is drastic. Hamilton is oblivious, too, just smiles bright as ever and nods enthusiastically. “I was just saying, if Jefferson would take his head out of his ass for three seconds, just long enough to fight his own fight instead of sending Madison to do it, he’d be _done_ for.” Aaron’s mouth threatens to curl into a sneer. “Can you shut the fuck up about Jefferson for two minutes, Hamilton? He hasn’t said so much as a word to you all day.” Hamilton’s brow furrows indignantly. Always looking for a fight, of course he is. “Indirectly he did. Sent Madison after me to get on my ass about getting drunk-married in Vegas, that’s insulting to _you_ too, Aaron. You should be just as upset if not more. In fact-”

“Madison was just as surprised to see us as we were to see him. Not everything has to be a fight.” His anger shows through a little, just in the edges of his voice. Hamilton catches that, clings to it for dear life. “You’re one to talk, Aaron.” Aaron’s heart is speeding up with the rush of anger, smacking the inside of his ribcage to it’s own awful beat. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he outright snarls, and if Hamilton is taken aback at all, he doesn’t show it. “I’ve been nothing but nice about this thing and you’re giving me nothing in return. You don’t think _I’m_ pissed off about being married to you, too? You think I _wanted_ to wake up on your chest stark naked with a pounding headache?”

“It certainly seemed that way, how you were acting this morning.” Aaron doesn’t really believe that Hamilton is very happy about the situation, but it’s still not untrue what he says. All morning, Hamilton has been disgustingly flirty and playful, far too relaxed about the situation. Aaron crosses his arms. “You seemed a lot like the cat who got the cream, if you ask me.” Hamilton scowls, lifts his shoulders and steps closer to him to exaggerate their slight difference in stature. Aaron sizes him up briefly. Hamilton is a little taller, but Aaron is way broader, more strength in the shoulders and arms. He could kick Hamilton’s ass if it comes to it. “You sound more like Madison every second. Maybe it’s not him who can’t formulate his own thoughts.” Every word is spat, not a single hint of niceness. Something in Aaron bends, threatens to snap with the pressure on it. “Here’s a thought; you’re fucking horrendous to be around for more than seven seconds at a time.” Hamilton gives a toothy smile, and every tooth seems sharper than it used to be, a bit more like a shark, a bit more likely to tear Aaron apart. “I’m not the one who married me, though. Doesn't that tell us something about your trustworthiness? About _your_ judgement skills, _Aaron_?” Aaron was unaware that his own name could sound so absolutely vicious. For just a moment, he falters.

“I’d marry _Jefferson_ before I’d ever marry you again,” Aaron answers eventually, and it’s definitely true. At least Jefferson is rich, could probably give Aaron a summer home and a ticket back to New York. He could probably sweep the whole marriage under the rug, pull a few strings and make him the fucking Vice President or something. Aaron really wishes he _had_ married Jefferson. Hamilton throws his arms up into the air. “Fine! Fine. If we’re going to dig deep, we’re digging deep. You’re just pissed off because you chose _me_ over Theodosia at some point last night.” He tilts his head sharply to the side, drops his arms back to his sides. They make a comical thumping noise as his loose palms hit his thighs. “Am I in the ballpark, Aaron? Is that why you’re so fucking touchy?”

And, well.

He isn’t wrong, but Aaron is definitely not going to admit that. He’s absolutely torn up about Theodosia, yes, of course he is. She was a real catch, something totally special. He vaguely remembers Angelica saying something about her not being from New York. Maybe she was an exchange student at the same time as Angelica and they lived together in Paris. Whatever it was, he knows that it’s almost guaranteed that they won’t see each other again once he goes home, and he won’t have a chance to redeem himself. All he’ll have to remember his time with her is a blurred memory of his lips sloppy on hers, wet with alcohol and messy, not at all as precise as he’d have liked. If Aaron could at least re-do that kiss, he might be content. Because fuck, her lips tasted like _cherry coke_. He really bit the big one with fucking that up, he can’t stand himself for ruining what could’ve been the best thing to happen to him in years. And what did he throw it away for? A scrawny little prick, lying to all of his friends about what he did last night, and sharing his last name? _Fuck._

This is the point at which Aaron actually registers his own voice in his ears, followed by the realization that he’s been talking the whole time. Hamilton looks hurt for the brief moment in which he hasn’t noticed Aaron actually looking at his face. Then his mouth drops open like he has something to say, he closes it like he’s changed his mind. Aaron halfway wants to apologize because that was all a bit too harsh to say out loud, but it was also _true_. This mess is Hamilton’s fault, Hamilton’s fault he’ll have to live with the fact that he, god only knows why, chose him over her. He settles for just staring back blankly and so Hamilton does the same. They remain like that, unmoving, melting in the summer heat.

Aaron catches a glimpse of something oddly familiar over Hamilton’s shoulder. It’s just a few people walking up the crosswalk but one of them, one of them catches his eye. Something in the way she walks with such a sure step, her smile, the way she’s tossing her head back as she laughs and how pretty she looks as she swings her head, how her braids bounce around her shoulders-

Shit.

He lets out an involuntary groan, shrinks back into himself. He can’t let Theodosia see him, especially not with Hamilton. God, he’s so _stupid_ , how did he not think she would be at the brunch? Every noble thought of apologizing and making things right are swept away, replaced with the cowardly instinct to hide. Hamilton isn’t wide or tall enough to hide him, and because of the angle Theodosia is coming from he’ll be painfully visible. He’s trapped, caught two feet away from Hamilton and his awful face, his wedding ring burning a hole through his pocket.

For as annoying and oblivious as Hamilton is, he’s fairly smart. He can pick up on social cues, and so he notices Aaron’s discomfort. He follows the gaze behind himself, whirls around so fast that it’s almost comically obvious. He catches sight of Theodosia, then the girl beside her, and his eyes widen too. Aaron makes the connection; that’s Maria. He kicks himself for not recognizing her sooner, kicks himself for getting into this entire situation. If he could’ve held back his outburst at Hamilton for just two more minutes, he’d be fine. But it’s too late, Hamilton is turning back to him, and in a very accurate echo of Aaron’s thoughts, he says, “ _Shit_.”

“I can’t talk to her,” Aaron whispers harshly, more to himself than to Hamilton. He stumbles back a step, still trying to duck himself behind Hamilton to hide. He gives his head a harsh shake, talks down to his outstretched palms. “I made a complete ass of myself in front of her last night. How am I supposed to face her?” Aaron’s heart is fluttering like a moth inside his chest, trying to fly up towards the light and escape. Hamilton, as annoying and oblivious as he is, he can pick up on social cues and recognize that Aaron is starting to panic. He must not be as smart as Aaron thought he was a moment ago, though, because his solution is to lean in, eyes lit up brilliantly with pride at his own idea, and whisper, “Kiss me.”

“ _What_?” Aaron hisses, and he moves himself back a half step. “Are you fucking insane?” Hamilton’s face remains set determinedly, he gives his head a little shake. “Aaron, they already think we’re fucking. Think about it. They’ll walk right by us if we’re kissing, right?” Aaron feels dizzy, his head is spinning, any air is too much to bring into his lungs. He shakes his head right back. “Can’t we just fake it then? Just…” He trails off. He can’t stand to explain to Hamilton the way that they could touch each other, grab here or there with their foreheads pressed together to mime a kiss. It doesn’t matter anyway, because Hamilton is stepping closer once more, curls his hand around the back of Aaron’s neck. “It won’t look real and you know that. Make your eyes all lovey, look like you _wanna_ kiss me.”

“That’s kind of hard to do, considering I _don’t_ want to,” Aaron argues, his throat sticky-dry. It's like he's swallowed a gallon of paint that's just now beginning to dry in his mouth. He _doesn't_ want to, but his resolve is fading fast. Hamilton is right for once, it won’t look real, and the girls do already think they’re together. Still, it seems so much more difficult to do without drinking, without the cover of darkness that had been that after party, without the promise of losing the memory. Hamilton is really showing his acting chops, giving Aaron a look so dark and wanting that it feels like it’s burning into his skin. Aaron swallows hard, Hamilton’s gaze flicks back and forth between his lips and his eyes. “I really don’t think this is necessary,” he practically whimpers, one last shot at getting out of this. Hamilton makes a noise very near a growl. “Just fucking kiss me.” And with that, Hamilton ducks his head slightly to reach Aaron’s and-- 

\--well. They’re kissing.

It honestly isn’t the worst thing Aaron has ever experienced, once he gets past the initial shock and thoughts of _i can’t believe my life has come to this_. It’s fairly chaste, both of them testing the water and figuring out what works. They have to twist around a little because their noses keep bumping and the whole thing feels clumsy, as if neither of them have ever kissed _anyone_ before. Once they find a good place for the both of them, it becomes easier, a little more simple. That almost makes it worse, because Aaron can’t find anything to complain about anymore. Hamilton’s beard is scraping the hell out of his chin, that’s the only thing he can really focus on other than the press of their mouths. Because while it’s not good in any sense of the word, Aaron doesn’t think he could describe it as bad either. He thinks about the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s never kissed someone with facial hair instead of how Hamilton’s lips are chapped but still strangely soft, pressing over and over back into Aaron’s. Aaron finds himself tilting his head, his hands instinctively rising up to hold Hamilton around the waist, palms flat on his back. Hamilton makes a little noise of surprise, but he doesn’t jerk away, just keeps kissing him with those soft pecks that they’re exchanging. At some point, Aaron isn’t sure how long it’s been exactly, it occurs to him that they have no way of knowing when it’s safe to pull away. His eyes are closed, though he’s not sure _when_ he actually closed them, and he’s sure Hamilton’s are too, so they can’t actually see to tell if Theodosia and Maria have left or not. Hamilton sinks his teeth into Aaron’s lower lip in a sudden movement, and for one glorious moment all thoughts except the pleasant sting are wiped clear of Aaron’s mind.

“Shut up,” Hamilton mutters when Aaron gasps, the sound small and entirely accidental, making Aaron’s entire body flush in embarrassment. He still has Aaron’s lip between his teeth, pulling back a little bit, and so his voice is slurred. Aaron opens his eyes now, finds Hamilton’s gaze darting to the sides. The girls are still there, surely enough, standing on the steps outside and talking. He and Hamilton are still standing right in their line of sight. Aaron rolls his eyes. “Do you just not see the irony in saying that,” he responds, or at least he tries. He finds himself once again silenced by Hamilton pressing back against him, letting go of his lip and soothing the bite with the flat of his tongue.

Kissing Hamilton is strange. Of course, he remembers some of this from last night, but that was frenzied and hungry, an insatiable want that fueled them. Now, he has nothing to focus on but what all this entails. He’s not sure of where this will leave them; is it really possible to go back to coworkers and disagreeable acquaintances once you’ve gone through this together? Hamilton’s hand leaves his neck, and Aaron can’t quite figure out why, but he can’t peel his heavy eyelids open. The kisses are lasting a bit longer now, a little less in the press and go fashion they had began in, more like _real_ kisses. Aaron will deny it to hell and back but he’s almost enjoying this, finds himself getting lost in the rhythm. When Hamilton’s hand finds him again, it’s on his cheek, and Aaron can feel his ring pressing cold against his skin, a rounded line of metal. Ah. The girls must’ve still been there, Hamilton decided flashing his wedding ring might send them packing faster. Or, he just felt a strange urge to put it on. Hamilton is weird anyway, to put it bluntly, but Aaron feels a bit of that urge too. Something possessive clawing up from deep inside him, something desperate to let everyone on the street see what he gets to take. _Mine._ As unwarranted as the thoughts are, as strangely as they come to them, Aaron can’t think up a good enough reason to disagree with them. So instead, he just presses harder against Hamilton and his wonderful mouth.

Hamilton’s hair is tickling Aaron’s face in the strands that have fallen from his bun, his fingers stroking lightly over his skin. Aaron can’t help it, he lets out a soft sigh against his mouth. The not good is fading fast into _good_ good, and he feels comfortable and content, like he could keep this up for as long as it takes without much thought. Maybe even longer, maybe not out in the open but in privacy, somewhere where he could really take his time. He steps in closer, pressing their chests together and giving himself to the feeling completely. When no protest is given, Aaron glides his hands up toward the back of Hamilton’s head and into his hair. Once his hands are anchored in place, he slides his tongue over the seam of Hamilton’s lips and then into his mouth, licks hot against his teeth--

“Aaron.”

His voice is loud and it takes that to jar Aaron’s eyes open, make him realize that Hamilton is not against him anymore. His hands are still on Aaron’s face, but he’s staring back at him, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. He tilts his head slightly. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Aaron asks, feels his skin go hot as he hears his own voice, which is definitely a little rougher than it was before. Hamilton, with his hands on his cheeks, must feel the same heat but he doesn’t move his hands. He just frowns. “I mean, you were trying to- never mind.” He seems distracted, a little distant as he looks over his shoulder in both directions, swallows hard and swipes one of his hands back through his hair. “Never mind. I think we’re in the clear.” He takes his hands away from Aaron, gets that smile on his face again. “Not bad, by the way,” he says, slips his ring off of his finger and steps back. It takes Aaron a long moment of blinking back at him dazedly to remember that the kiss wasn’t real. It was an escape mechanism. His mind is racing to match his heart, his stomach doing somersaults. Hamilton looks- he looks different. A little like the sun is framing him, like he looks _good_. Aaron thinks it could be the smile finally working on him, getting Hamilton out of trouble. Or maybe it’s just the heat. Whatever it is, it suddenly make Aaron thinks he might be able to understand why he would’ve agreed to marrying this man last night. If he’d been kissing him like that for hours, with his hands soft on his skin and his lips so gentle, it wouldn’t have taken much when paired with the alcohol. In fact, maybe the alcohol loosened Hamilton up too, made him more prone to slipping his mouth open or sinking his teeth in like he had for that brief moment.

The thought makes Aaron feels a little sick as soon as he thinks it. He doesn’t want that to be the reason, doesn’t _want_ his heart fluttering so hard at something that was no more than a kiss. But still, the world feels a little like it’s shifting in odd ways beneath him, like everything that’s ever happened is centered around that moment. Aaron finds himself staring back down at Hamilton’s lips, wondering what it would take to press his against them again. He forces his gaze to the ground. When he can, Aaron pushes past him with a vague gesture and a command of, “Let’s just head inside.”

“Whatever you say,” Hamilton responds, his voice just as sunny as ever. Aaron’s legs feel a little weak.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha get Fukt aaron. also james madison get out of my Face you tiny evil man (and we meet jefferson next time around)
> 
> sorry for the delay with this part-- it was supposed to be much longer/cover more story but i just dont have enough written (ap classes are a bitch). the resolution is coming, it is, it's just...very......slowly....
> 
> thank u for all the people who read and a million more thanks to anyone who kudos/comments


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